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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

He couldn't be entirely sure when the transition had happened; he had gone for seventeen years without contact, but at some point it had gone beyond a self-exile, beyond a punishment that he had sentanced himself to for what he had done to Marni - at some point, killing had become easier than putting up with being touched. Yanking out someone's still-beating heart was more acceptable to him than the idea of someone brushing a hand against his shoulder, touching his hair, or brushing lips with him.

He couldn't pin point the time he had begun to recoil from touch, because he had gone so long without it that the change could have happened at any juncture in the time since his wife had passed, though the guilt had been there from the very minute she had stopped breathing.

As Graverobber took another step towards him, Nathan could suddenly feel his own heart beating in his chest, and he felt as if it was so loud that the other man might be able to hear it; why had he done this, why had he looked for Graverobber again, knowing how the other would behave? Nathan was suddenly incredibly conscious of the situation, and he took another step away, so hasty that his back actually struck up against the side of the emergency exit behind him. It sounded painful, but he didn't acknowledge it, he kept his eyes on Graverobber; he had to fight back the urge to tell the other man not to touch him again, because he knew the scavenger would only be amused by the discomfort.

He could feel Repo crawling into his chest and up his throat again, trying to take over once more, and though Nathan had always been aware that he wasn't the most stable human being alive, he was suddenly clear on what it actually felt like to go insane. He didn't fight it, he let the Repo Man take the reins again, because Nathan's stress levels were already so high that there was the concern he might actually pop a blood vessel.
 
A chuckle bubbled up out of his chest, a surprised sound of near delight. The Repo Man was, shockingly, startlingly afraid of him. Him, the man heâ??d had on his back a week or so before, choking the air out of him. This was the very monster that inspired horror stories and left people in whimpering, pissing piles of terror before they died.

Graverobber took another step, pressing his body against the doctor. It was hard to pull most of his tricks when the other guy had a mask on. The visor was illuminated in a soft, blue glow so very like the drug he sucked out of the dead like some sort of cyberpunk vampire. â??If you take that mask off, I wonâ??t be able to see your face,â? he murmured, putting just a little weight against the other. Not the choking, deadly weight of before, though he had a feeling this was just as terrifying for the masked horror.

The vinyl was smooth against his chest, inhuman and sterile. Graverobber was a little surprised: he was used to being pushed around a little more by now. It was true, though. The light above them flickered in its death throes and they were out of the stronger lighting just a few meters back. Heâ??d see no details, no identifying marks unless the man had some sort of glowing tattoo. His own, face, though, caught the light easily, the smirk stark against the white.

This fear was something Graverobber didn't understand. Junkies touched, whores touched, that was part of the job. He was used to having foreign hands on his body, used to a stranger pushing her tongue into his ear or sucking on his fingers, either trying to convince him of a hit or so high she reached out for anything. It was simply a part of his life. That someone so feared would be so afraid of such a common thing, why, it was like finding out Satan was afraid of boots.
 
Nathan couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous; he pressed himself back against the metal staircase as though hoping he might be able to phase his entire body through the steel to get away from the Graverobber, but there was no such luck. He found himself suddenly trapped, pinned between the cold stairs and a warm body, and his heart was racing, and a moment of near panic welled up inside of him as he realized he could feel all of the contours of the other man's body, even through the vinyl, and that it wasn't repulsive to him - even though he desperately wanted it to be.

But the Repo Man was collected, calm, and maybe just a little more intrigued than he should have been, and one of his hands crept up Graverobber's shoulder and his fingers twisted into the taller man's hair, wrenching his head back just a little; his other hand had slipped between them, still holding the knife from earlier, and he tapped it against the vulture's inner thigh, making a very obvious point.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked coolly, his eyes searching the other man's face through the visor of his mask; he could have gutted the other man in an instant, but he was telling him to take his mask off, a request that he'd never had before, and especially in this context, a request that was offering things Nathan Wallace had been denying himself for years.
 
So much for having the upper hand.

Something had flitted behind those eyes, something Graverobber couldnâ??t quite place, and then the other was in control again. Thatâ??s what he called it when the monster had a long, serrated knife pressed a few inches down from his groin. And he was making that knife very, very known.

â??Seducing you, I had hoped,â? he said cockily, one hand wrapping around the metal behind the Repo Man, somehow managing an air of nonchalance even with that gloved hand pulling his head back painfully and leaving his neck at an awkward angle. This was some game of chicken, it was, and Graverobber hoped that tonight wouldnâ??t leave him a eunuch. Repo was teasing him with all sorts of deaths he just really didnâ??t want, and bleeding out through his missing dick was a new one heâ??d never thought about.

â??Never met a man so uneager to get undressed,â? Graverobber said, careful not to press against the other again. Push too hard, and thisâ??d be the end of him, here in some alley way chasing psychotic tail.
 
Somewhere inside the body, Nathan Wallace was protesting very, very loudly. He was all at once annoyed, panicked, and indignant at what was being implied, and he wasn't about to be toyed with by some scavenger, and what the hell was he doing, moving his eyes over Graverobber's throat like this? Nathan protested, but the Repo Man clapped a gloved hand over the good doctor's mouth and told him to be quiet, because this was too interesting to ignore.

He felt Graverobber stiffen just a little as he realized precisely what was going on south of the border, and Repo wasn't exactly being subtle about it, making sure the knife was pressed up nicely against the thigh, far enough that nothing would be cut, but close enough that the threat was a very real one.

"Mm-hmm," Repo said thoughtfully, tapping the flat of the knife against Graverobber's leg a couple of times, a cruel reminder of who was presently in command; after all, Nathan Wallace wasn't in at the moment, so the single weakness that the scavenger had sought to exploit had become temporarily null and void. The Repo Man didn't balk at the touch; he was the embodiment of every vicious, nihilistic aspect of Nathan Wallace's personality, normal emotions and feelings that had been supressed for years, pushed aside and ignored until they came out as someone different - and up until now, Repo had only ever been employed for his anger and blood thirst.

This was something very different, and the Repo Man found he was quite enjoying it.

"And you're doing such a good job of it." he said mockingly, giving another tug on the thick ropes of hair in his hand, and he ran his eyes over the bruises on the man's throat, suddenly possessed of the urge to run his tongue over them, and maybe add a few new ones, just for some extra colour.
 
Whatever had taken control was not afraid of him, unfortunately, so the game had evolved from Chicken to something completely different. He had no bartering chips now, only the fact that he fascinated the Repo Man as much as Repo fascinated him.

Or, rather, he hoped he fascinated the other to that level.

Or that knife would end up touching places he generally didnâ??t even like nails around. Strange, though, that the medal was both entirely frightening and entirely thrilling, even with him being no scalpel slut.

â??Thank you,â? he replied brightly, voice low, almost intimate. God, did this freak have multiple personalities, or something? He thought that only happened in bad television shows, where one personality impregnated some girl and the other had no memory of it. Graverobber had to go and find some bad movie clichéâ??s evil cousin.

He groaned at the tug, gritting his teeth. Now that hurt. Even the manâ??s grip had changed, returning to that other nightâ??s impersonal strength. But even this was different from before. It hurt like hell, little sparks of pain running up his scalp, but Repo wasnâ??t touching him disinterestedly. This was touch for touchâ??s sake, not to smother or stab. On a whim, he tried pressing forward, unafraid of the flat of the knife. No, when he turned it to the blade, then itâ??d be a problem.

â??I figured youâ??d be the sort to like it rough,â? he quipped, almost coughing due to the pressure put on his esophagus in his position.
 
Repo's head was cocked to the side, his eyes were flicking over Graverobber's face, drinking in the man's features and their reactions; yes, there was some confusion, a modest amount of doubt in the scavenger's face as he realized the situation. Up until now, Repo had deflected his advances, balked at them, or responded to them with a savage sort of anger, all of which had been influenced by Nathan Wallace's feelings on it - but with Nathan temporarily down for the count for the sake of his sanity, Repo was getting a chance to explore a little further.

He wondered if Graverobber was starting to regret his choice to come closer.

He heard the groan escape the other man - it was pain, yes, but something about the noise piqued the surgeon's interest, and he felt the other man moving in, coming closer, and the flat of the blade stayed in place, sliding against Graverobber's inner thigh. When he'd come in so close that Repo could even feel the man's body heat, he shifted the knife, lifting it up, now pressing the flat of the blade to more intimate areas, and he gave a sharp tap with it,

"You might not like it this rough." he replied.
 
Another groan, some mix of surprise, pain, and other things he hadnâ??t expected from this encounter. Repo was toying with him, he realized. Good. That meant he was keeping the night surgeons interest, and keeping him interested would keep him alive. Vaguely, he was reminded of a story from a long time ago, that used to be a book then was adapted to some cheesy show that kept the audienceâ??s attention, short as it was. Something about a woman who had to tell stories to keep her murder interested. Probably lacked knives to the groin.

Graverobber let his head fall back into that gloved hand, trying to relieve some of the pressure as his lips twisted in pain. He was taller than Repo, to his disadvantage now, and the position was causing muscles in his back to protest, unused to being stretched and compressed this way.

â??Try me,â? he growled, one hand reaching up blindly for the collar he had saw earlier. Dumb fingers ghosted across the leather, then into the space between outfit and skin. He let his eyes close, trying to focus on that patch of skin and the clasps there. Couldnâ??t see a damned thing the way the surgeon had his head held back like that. â??Iâ??m always up for something new.â? If it didnâ??t involve him dying, sure.
 
He felt Graverobber twisting and shifting, muscles trying to adapt to the positioning, trying to get away from the ache that was no doubt being caused by the way his head was being forced back - but Repo didn't give him any leeway, didn't allow him any slack to feel more comfortable. That would have been kind of him, after all.

But the key difference here between their situation and the story that Graverobber was recalling, was that there was no story that the Graverobber could tell that would stimulate the Repo Man's interest more than the complex physicality that was surging between them. It was a bizarre, dark thing, and Repo wasn't sure he could truly give a definition to what it was - attraction seemed like it was too simple of a word to describe what was happening right then, because he was quite sure he disliked Graverobber. He disliked him very, very much, and it made him want to do terrible things to the man, but not the sort he was used to doing.

He felt Graverobber's hands advance on him, and for a moment he expected thrashing or a fight, but no - the fingers were searching, looking for the buckles and clasps; he was truly trying to get the mask off of him, the idiot. He actually - wanted - this to continue, and Repo gave another jerk on the man's hair as though to emphasize for Graverobber precisely how bad of an idea this was.

And then he felt fingers ghosting against his skin, dipping just under the collar of his jacket, brushing along his neck, and he gave a small shiver at the sensation - it had clearly been too long for the surgeon if his reaction to the tiny touch was any indication. The one hand stayed in Graverobber's hair, the other dissappeared from the man's groin for an instant, moving up to flick open the remaining buckles that kept the mask in place; Nathan Wallace would never have considered it out in the open, but the darkness was reassuring.

The mask hit the ground somewhere near their feet, and for an instant, Repo was motionless, and his eyes seemed to glisten even in the darkness - and then he went for Graverobber's throat, a motion that was more of a bite than a kiss, right at the base of the man's neck, over his pulse.
 
His fingers had twitched to a stop then, at that sharp jerk, the digits tightening with enough force he felt a few hairs go, ripped from his skin. Obviously, he was doing something wrong, had made the wrong move and angered the night surgeon. But the monster shivered, some big, viscious dog enjoying his touch enough not to bite at the moment, and that spurred him on. Repoâ??s skin was surprisingly warm (though why should he be surprised? The night was warm and this man wasnâ??t a dead body) under the tips of his blunt fingers. â??When was the last time you did this?â? he managed to get out before the hand holding the knife to his groin disappeared.

For a moment, he did see a face. Graverobber was used to working in low light and there was just enough illumination that the cruel eyes reflected it back in a glow, but he saw a face. The Repo Man was surprisingly handsome, with a tall, slopping forehead, grey hair slicked and sticking up in odd angles due to the way he had yanked the mask off. For some reason, he had expected something else, something hideous to match the job, something worth hiding, but outside of the nasty expression that face might have belonged to some average Joe who had never been elbowâ??s deep in someone elseâ??s body.

Then they were both moving, even Graverobber with his head pulled back like that. The thief yelped at the kiss, feeling more teeth than one generally expected from kisses, his own hands busy. One reached for the otherâ??s hair, yanking just as hard at the damp strands, stubby, dirty nails digging into the scalp. The other was at his neck still, calloused thump pressed against the pulse point there. Knife absent, Graverobber was brave enough to thrust himself forward, pushing Repo bag against the ladder with some force. He was heavier, after all, he should be able to give at least as good as he got.
 
Repo had been enjoying an advantage over Graverobber; their height difference meant that his access to the other man's throat was uninterrupted, his teeth working and worrying at the tender, pale flesh, moving around and sometimes abusing the bruises that already marred it. He heard the scavenger's question, and there was the briefest hesitation before he responded,

"Too long," he ground out, his breath hot on the other man's skin, and then he felt fingers in his own hair, yanking, and sparks of pain shot through his skin, but in a paradoxical moment, he discovered the feeling wasn't actually unpleasant; he wondered if all those years had unhinged him more than he'd initially believed. Of course, he was standing in a filthy back alley, gnawing furiously on another man's throat, so he suspected it was sort of a given that he'd snapped a little.

He was shoved roughly, and his back and shoulders struck up against the staircase hard enough for a small gasp to escape him, and he felt some of Graverobber's hair give from the tug that resulted, a few strands wrenching out and into his gloved hand. Repo's eyes shifted up to the other man's face, which was tilted back at a painful looking angle from the abuse,

"Seventeen years," he said, and his mouth was on Graverobber's throat again, teeth nipping at the spot just under his jaw, once even placing a bite beside the man's adam's apple.
 
Right. Repo considered necking and hair-pulling to be the unhinged aspect heâ??d earned over the last seventeen years, not necessarily the killing part.

There wasnâ??t much he could do with his head back like that save keep his hands exploring what limited skin was available to touch. Graverobber found a strange power in that quick exhalation of air as Repo hit the ladder with enough force to send shivers all the way up the exit. He knew how the metal rungs dug into the back and shoulder blades painfully, had been in a position like that himself, and the idea that he had the Repo Man forced back like that was thrilling.

Even better, he knew the doctor was willing because if he wasnâ??t Graverobber would have been disemboweled long ago.

Graverobber whistled lowly. â??Seventeen years, huh?â? he breathed, twisting his head as much as he could to give the Repo Man better access to his neck. If he was going to submit to this man, he might as well do it willingly. â??It didnâ??t fall off?â? One bite left him shivering, the teeth finding the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Unlike the Repo Man, who seemed to think it was odd to enjoy mixing the two sensations, Graverobber was very, very aware that they went together perfectly.
 
Graverobber had turned his head, and it was enough to give Repo access to other muscles and unmarred skin, and he ran his tongue against the side of the man's throat, his one hand moving to grab Graverobber's jaw, directing him the way he wanted him, like some rainbow-haired puppet, his thumb smearing some of the scavenger's dark lipstick.

He tugged on the lobe of Graverobber's ear with his teeth, and abused the shell of his ear for a few moments, focusing until the formerly pale skin had gone pink from his ministrations and the blood rising to the surface; his hand dropped away from his jaw then, and found the hem of Graverobber's shirt, the leather-encased palm sliding up his stomach, rough and testing reactions.

Again, Graverobber would feel teeth, but this time it was because Repo was actually grinning against his skin, apparently amused by the implication that his genitals could have popped off in the seventeen years of being - unused. But no, he was quickly discovering that he was still very much fully functional, a fact that was making Nathan Wallace feel vaguely ill.

He slipped his hand around to Graverobber's back, pulling the man up against him and planting one leg between his, his thigh pressing roughly into a sensitive area.
 
For a moment, he fought that tug on his jaw, enjoying the way the tension hurt until the muscles gave and Repo jerked him the way he wanted.

Graverobber started, almost jerking back away from that hand. The bastard didnâ??t even have the courtesy to pull off his glove! The leather was impersonal, not cold, but slick enough to be sticky as it ghosted along his stomach, pushing up his stained shirt and leaving quivering muscles in its wake. He would have returned the favour, but it was difficult when your partner was wearing a heavy, vinyl apron in front of his vitals.

Now he could feel lips moving against his skin, almost kindly. The Repo Man had better not be going soft on him noâ??no, that was a grin. He must have found something funny in what Graverobber had said, as if he had touched upon some inside joke.

He might have been just a little disturbed to find out the sharing the joke where in the same body, even though one found the situation much less of a laughing matter. Or a grinning maniacally matter as the case may be.

He might have jerked again when he felt a thigh insinuate itself between his legs. This was the man who had bashed his head into the pavement for hinting at sex, right? Graverobber dropped a hand, pressing it between them and under that apron that was being pushed to the side, checking the thickness of the GeneCo issued pants around Repoâ??s groin. For completely platonic reasons, of course.
 
He could feel the Graverobber twitching at his touch; the leather gloves were heavy, but he could feel the ridges and dips that formed the other man's torso - as far as he was concerned, removing the gloves wasn't an option, the full sleeve gloves connecting at the shoulder, making it difficult, but also because Nathan simply didn't want it to happen.

And he definitely didn't want to feel Graverobber's wandering hand - but Repo didn't protest, he allowed it when the other man's fingers slipped downwards, and shoved aside part of the thick vinyl coat and apron, several layers of heavy fabric, to get to his hips. His eyes were half-lidded, an expression that would have been come-hither if not for the fact they were in the dark, and Graverobber was already - hither. Very hither.

He felt a hand against his groin, and he pressed his thigh closer to Graverobber, shifting his leg to create a small amount of friction, biting at his neck again, and this time latching on in a way that would undoubtedly leave a terrible, bruising welt on the other man by morning.
 
How did he manage to strike terror and fear and chase after victims in this outfit? It was so hot recently, the temperature a miserable eighty that barely dropped at night and the air so saturated with water any more would have it raining. Graverobber should have come across the surgeon passed out on the ground somewhere, suffering from heat stroke. No wonder his hair had been damp, his skin sticky.

Maybe he should have dragged the gloves off. He had seen the Repo Manâ??s costume multiple times now and knew that those gloves where attached near the shoulders. If he had his hands free, he could fumble with those. Graverobber had developed a certain skill with groping around in the dark.

Which Repo was learning about now.

Graverobberâ??s hand pressed against his crotch, the palm of his hand rolling. Even Repoâ??s pants were thick, the poor bastard, though having to sweat a little in his uniform seemed like a small price to pay for ripping organs out of living, conscious people. â??Thereâ??s no w-way you can get out of that outfit, is there,â? he asked, fingers digging into the manâ??s groin as he rubbed himself against a leather-clad thigh. He was already trying to figure out how exactly this was going to happen with the doctor till in his getup. Knowing his luck, the man probably had leather and vinyl suspenders that connected his pants to his shoulders as well.
 
When he finally released the bit of throat from his mouth, there was a rising, swelling mark left on Graverobber that would likely be purple the next day. Almost immediately, he moved to another spot - the dip in Graverobber's clavicle - and did the same thing, apparently intent on leaving the other man covered in painful welts as a souvenier from this peculiar night.

The gloved hand on the scavenger's back was shifting, the fingertips raking down his skin, a rough, scratching motion that was made a little painful by the seams in the material. He felt the other man beginning to rub against his thigh, and he finally released Graverobber's hair so he could move one hand to his hip, not quite stilling Graverobber, but making a point of controlling his movements a little.

"No," he replied simply, but there was an amusement there, followed by a small, very human noise, a barely concealed groan when Graverobber began to grope him, and one of his hands moved to the front of the thief's pants, flicking them open - it was simply Graverobber's good luck that Repo hadn't decided to just cut them off of him, "But you can get out of yours."
 
Where Repoâ??s mouth was, fire followed, his teeth and tongue and lips leaving behind abused skin that burned in a way that was surprisingly arousing. Graverobber was used to sex, to touch, but in the same way he was used to Zydrate: it didnâ??t excite him all that terribly much. Fucking was habit.

This wasnâ??t.

â??I can,â? he admitted, dropping his head now that he was free to, muscles protesting as he did. Repoâ??s hand on his back was surprisingly heavy, almost reassuring, but the hand at his fly was everything but. Repo was enjoying himself, if that sound he had made earlier was any indication, and not because he was having one of his sick fits of humor. Graverobber grinned crookedly, never even thinking to kiss the other man as he reached down to undo the thick belt there, pushing his pants down like the monster had hinted. He dove forward, determined to leave his own mark on his partnerâ??s neck. Wouldnâ??t be fair if the drug dealer was the only one to leave with a few blemishes, and besides, he couldnâ??t resist the thought of giving a Repo Man a hickie in the shape of his own teeth.

Really, the nights of stalking him should have given him a clue as to what would happen next. This was, after all, the man who had buried a wallet in dead man to have Graverobber fish it out for his own sick amusement.
 
He was watching, his eyes flashing due to another glint from the streetlight, and his hand remained under Graverobber's shirt, the one on his hip moving away to allow the other man to divest himself of his belt, and then of his pants. Briefly, terribly briefly, one gloved hand ghosted over the newly revealed skin, hot and hard flesh, just touching for a moment - and then Graverobber moved forward with that smile on his face, intent on giving Repo a matching mark.

But no sooner had Graverobber leaned in, the Repo Man was gone, he had shifted, actually ducking beneath the other man's arm, where it had been levelled out on the staircase behind him, and he'd moved in a flawless two-step, appearing suddenly behind Graverobber. Even in the dark, it was easy to tell that Repo was giving one of his maniacal smiles, and he cocked his head to the side, clearly taking a moment to look Graverobber over.

"Very nice." he said, before, weirdly, whacking him in the rear with the flat of his knife, just stopping short of calling Graverobber 'toots'.

He stepped back and lifted his mask, wiggling it in the air for a moment, tottering it from side to side like it was a bizarre wave goodbye, and suddenly he was dissappearing casually down the alleyway, a soft noise escaping him that must have been laughter.
 
He had time to suck in a gulp of air, expecting (wrongly) that he might actually find completion in that gloved hand, had been excited to feel those seams on the sensitive skin of his cock, but then the touch was gone along with the Repo Man.

Graverobber hesitated, confused. His mind simply could not take in what had happened to him, simply couldnâ??t process it. He turned his head fast enough that a few rainbow colored cords whipped around, staring, his jaw dropped and lined mouth opened stupidly.

It was perhaps the first thing that had left him speechless in a very, very long time.

The thief continued to stare even as Repo left, footsteps and laughter fading away to nothing. His stupor lasted a few minutes until some bit of trash shifted down the street, sending cans and paper scattering into the street. â??Fucking hell,â? he swore, jerking back into reality. Here he was, standing in the middle of a dark alley with his pants around his ankles and an erection due to some crazed GeneCo employee, make up smeared like some sort of cheap whore. In one fluid second he was pulling up his pants, redoing the belt there.

Repo was freak. And coming from Graverobber, that was saying something. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his neck, cringing.
 
Nathan's eyelids stuck together when he tried to open them, so he laid splayed out on the bed for several long minutes, rubbing furiously at his eyes until he could open them properly; when he finally did, he had to close them again, because sunlight was pouring in through his window and directly into his suddenly over-sensitive pupils. With his hands on his face, he tried desperately to remember the previous night, but couldn't seem to do so through the throb of a heavy headache - but he suddenly realized that he wasn't feeling his skin against his face, he was feeling -

- leather.

His eyes sprang open and he sat up in bed; he saw himself in the mirror across the room then, pale-faced, hair slicked back, and he was dressed in his GeneCo uniform, complete with dried-on gore. A glance at the bed told him that the blood had still been wet when he'd fallen asleep, because there were dry stains of it across the sheets from where he'd clearly had an unsettled rest.

And yet he couldn't remember any of it.

He stood then, intent on divesting of his uniform - what was he doing with it on, he never wore it in the house - and immediately regretted it, because it occurred to him that his trousers were bizarrely tight. Tugging off the leather apron and vinyl jacket, he realized that, yes, he was currently the sheepish owner of a truly raging hard-on; he immediately flushed with embarrassment, regardless of being the only one to notice, and made a point of trying to ignore it.

And when he was in the shower, first with freezing cold water running over him, followed by scalding hot, the temperature brought back some memory, but it only came in bits and pieces, flashes like under a strobe light. An alleyway, his mouth on a pale throat.

What did I do?

The feeling of a hand pressing against him, his thigh pressing between legs, the feeling of something hard -

Nathan faltered and nearly caused one of the most unfortunate ends to a Repossession career by slipping in the tub, but he steadied himself. No, his mind must have been playing tricks on him. He hadn't - and certainly not with a man - he wouldn't -

He stilled his own thoughts, stilled his body, and stood wide-eyed under the hot water, because somewhere in the murky depths of his head, he heard dark, cackling laughter.

You did, you did.

At the table, he told Shilo it was a fever that was making him turn that particular shade of red, and she believed him.
 
Every man had a breaking point and Graverobber was quickly reaching his.

Nearly every night, he encountered his Repo Man. Or he thought he did. Heâ??d be napping on a fire escape, a lazy cat in the heat, and something would come by and rattle the stairs, making him jerk awake. That something would be gone by the time Graverobber, who slept lightly after all his years on the streets, had jerked up, the only thing remaining of the monster was soft laughter echoing down the alley and Graverobberâ??s own heart thrown into palpitations. Or perhaps heâ??d be walking down a dark street or weaving his way through the poorly lit graveyards and a shadow would flicker the wrong way. He had never been one to let nerves rule him, but now he was jumping at every hint of the night surgeon.

And worse: he was finding nothing. No concrete evidence that he was being stalked by the Repo Man, no image that couldnâ??t be attributed to the heat, stress, and lights playing with his mind. Once, in a surprising show of anxiety, heâ??d actually tripped, hitting his head. Usually, he was too light-footed to catch his toes in some pothole that had grown in a poorly maintained street, but Graverobber was on edge.

That particular incident had been nearly a week ago, but he could still remember waking up in Rayâ??s make-shift hospital, vision bleary from the concussion. The doctor, a SurGEN who had aged out of the system, had sent him packing as soon as he could stand straight.

He had been informed that he was not to come back until he had lost the Repo Man trailing him (though Ray would hold his place for half rent, the bastard, and there was no better deal heâ??d get), so that meant he was forced to spend the nights on the streets. And business was slow: very few junkies wanted to be caught with a dealer that had a GeneCo assassin following them. The rumour had spread quickly: even Amber had remarked on it during one of her slumming trips, the bitch actually sounding him out for a new dealer should her current one go missing. He had her pushed up against a wall, worn concrete rasping her skin to the point of bleeding before her man whores had the chance to pull him off.

Without somewhere to crash, he was finding it hard to get proper sleep. Daytime meant crowds and noise, and night, night was filled withâ?¦

Well. Nothing.

He preferred the quiet of the graves better. Started sleeping there, too, in the old tombs that no one came and brought flowers for. Best bed partners were corpses if you ignored the smell and the patrols of GeneCops. Certainly were quiet and didnâ??t push you up a wall so hard that your back was scrapped and raw the next morning. Didnâ??t leave you with a hard on, either, though Graverobber had talked to enough of his peers to know that wasnâ??t true for everyone. Generally, he liked his job, but sleeping in the graves was a bit much.

Certainly didn't take the edge off his appetite, though. The GeneCo lackies started coming across a bit more litter: empty take away boxes and used utensils placed in the least respectful manner he could find. Made him feel a little better and the dead didnâ??t seem to mind his rather childish stress relief.

But, after a week, his addicted followers started trickling back, their need for their cure overriding their sense. There was a reason Graverobber was called â??Graverobberâ??. He was the best at what he did and most other grave robbers (undeserving of capitals) ended up dead in a week. The dealer was holding court from the lid of a dumpster, legs open wide as he watched the first shift of night workers go about, propositioning men and women on their way home from boring, stable nine-to-fives. They weren't the sort one would see affluent men purchasing: these were cheap, guady things, with too much make up and obvious surgery scars. These were were the sort of disposable hookers that usually ended up dead and faceless after some weird Large party.

They were good customers. Plus, it was like a one-stop shop of vices. Any mundane salary man could walk up, do things his wife at home would never allow for a few bucks, maybe even get rid of that miserable ache from his new surgery. It was the sort of image Graverobber found deeply amusing.
 
Nathan spent the rest of the week uncharacteristically confused; his days were sunlight and optimistic moments with an increasingly worried Shilo - who he continually reassured, it was just a cold, that was why he looked so thin and tired - and his nights were blurs of shadow and blood, organs strewn across filthy pavements, terrified screams from people he couldn't remember the faces of. He would wake up in different parts of the house, once on the floor beside his bed, once in the chair near Marni's memorial - even once in the sub-zero basement, half on the steel table, he'd woken up with frost in his hair and the distinct feeling that he had been deep frozen. He'd even left a body in the room with him, a man strapped to the wheelchair with his torso torn wide open, ribs prised out in a way that had made all of the internal organs collapse out onto the floor, and when he cocked his head to the side, he realized that the entrails had been positioned to look like a smiling face with little kidney eyes.

And worst of all, he couldn't remember what he'd done outside - images and flashes would come back to him periodically, but he couldn't place precisely when they had happened, his normally organized memory in shambles from the delirium of sleeplessness. He could only remember the feeling of warmth against his skin, the sound of a low voice, and places - moments in time frozen in pictures, being on rooftops, in cemetaries, lingering in alleyways -

- but not for a repossession. Half of them, he wasn't sure why he'd been there, and when he went back over his files, they reconfirmed that there was no reason for his strange patterns, lingering in a small area of the city when his marks would be in other parts.

So Nathan did the logical thing - or as logical as he could manage at that point - and he decided to scout out the area. Dressed in a neatly-pressed suit and clean-shaven with his thick-rimmed glasses, Nathan Wallace looked completely out of place wandering the back alleys, like a lost lamb in a lion's den. His gait was not one of an unsure man, in fact, it showed a confidence that betrayed his otherwise mild-mannered appearance, and it was enough to keep a few of the predators away, though some of the hookers lingered, watching him for any signs of interest.
 
Graverobber sat perched on his dumpster, half-lidded eyes scanning the alley. Heâ??d always been observant, but after Repo, well, he tended to watch just a little closer.

There was the normal amount of tired businessmen, grey figures with cookie-cutter suits and slacks, their faces all blending into one stereotype. They were tired, they had a wife and kids at home, they wanted to feel alive for just awhile, and sex and drugs were better than surgery. Surgery, there were papers and loans and Repo, but sex and drugs? A dealer or a whore wouldnâ??t give you their stuff if you couldnâ??t pay, and that was that. No fine print that meant they could come back and tear the stuff from your body later.

Graverobber perked up, seeing something odd. Most men wandering through here did it with a bit of shame or apprehension: he could see that in their body language, the way their steps faultered and their shoulders drooped. This one was just as mild-mannered looking as the rest of them, but there was a certain confidence to his walk that hinted at his lack of desire to be bothered. He didnâ??t want anything anyone was selling.

So why was he here?

The dealer slid off the dumpster, brushing off one of the nine-to-five addicts that had finally worked up the courage to approach him. There was something familiar in the way he held himself, something Graverobber couldnâ??t quite place. He wasnâ??t particularly tall, shorter, perhaps, than Graverobber in his platformed boots, nor was he all that interesting looking from the back, coat clean and every graying hair in place. A few hookers watched him, looks of surprise on their painted faces. Usually, people came to the dealer. He didnâ??t go to them. This was different though.

Quietly, he ghosted up behind his newest enigma. â??Lost, sir?â? he said mockingly, dirty hands resting on both shoulders to stop him.
 
Nathan couldn't be sure what he was looking for; the blur of images had left him with nothing more than the knowledge that there were a few choice areas he had gone to during his nights on the prowl, though there was little extra information he could pull from the foggy depths of his memory. He didn't know what he would find, but his outlook was grim; it was nearing night at that point, the sun had almost fallen beneath the horizon and it had cast the dirty city in an orange glow that seemed to act as a signal to all of the night creatures. In the period of time it had taken for darkness to fall, Nathan had watched the change, like a shift switch; the business men and women, the people dressed in skirts and suits, carrying briefcases and looking conservative - they were slowly dissappearing, vanishing into their homes. In their place, people in dusty, dirty coats with wild hair were appearing, some of them even seemed to be popping out of dumpsters.

It didn't surprise Nathan; at this point, very little did, especially in the city he lived in. It hadn't always been this way, he knew that much, but the epidemic that had hit the world had changed things in short order - with so many people in debt to GeneCo, civilization had taken a nose dive. People had stopped being able to afford being civilized and had taken to robbery and murder, drug dealing and larceny to get what they needed - and it was all to stop themselves from being the next on the Repossession list.

Though some of them - some of them just liked life this way. Some of them were happy to sleep in cemetaries and spend half their life high on Zydrate, and judging by the vapid expressions on some of the faces he passed, a lot of the night owls in the area were junkies, and Nathan's careful, scanning expression only made him stand out more.

And then there was a shadow looming behind him, hands on his shoulders, a voice in his ear; Nathan fell still, and for a long moment he stood with his back to Graverobber, vaguely irritated by the touch. He turned then, a slow movement like he was on a turntable, and he stared hard at the vulture through his thick-rimmed glasses, his expression indicating he was entirely unimpressed by the situation; a flick of the eyes indicated he should remove his hands, thank you very much.

"No," Nathan said flatly, "I'm not."

He lifted a hand, grabbing Graverobber's sleeve between his thumb and forefinger like he was lifting something particularly foul, moving one of the man's hands from his shoulder.

"But thank you." he added drily.
 
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